GOT: My Secret Lover is sansa-Chapter 92

Roslin stood by the table, watching him. She had changed into a deep green dress, her hair brushed and falling over her shoulders. She looked beautiful, but her face was tight with worry. She kept twisting a ring on her finger.

"Should I come with you?" she asked. Her voice was small. "I know the secret ways of the castle... I promise I won’t be trouble. I can...."

Alaric shook his head. "No. You are not coming with me. I am just going for a ride there; it’s nothing serious, so don’t worry."

She bit her lip, her eyes darting to the tent opening. "At least take Rivy or Livy. Five knights are not enough. My father has hundreds of men in there. If—"

"No," Alaric interrupted. "The wolves are here for your safety. I said don’t worry. Just trust me."

Alaric saw that his words hadn’t reached her. Roslin was still trembling.

He sighed softly and turned around. Before she could speak again, he reached out and caught her by the waist. With a sudden, fluid motion, he lifted her high off the ground. Roslin let out a small, startled gasp, her feet dangling as she was brought eye-level with him. She instinctively locked her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck to stay steady.

"Come on, Rose," Alaric said, his voice low and grounding. "Don’t be this anxious. It’s just your father and his little bridge. He’s a greedy old man, not some legendary warlord or a god. I’ve faced worse things than a Frey in a high chair."

Roslin went silent. She looked down into his eyes, searching for even a flicker of doubt and finding none. She didn’t know how to argue with that level of confidence. Instead of speaking, she cupped his face with her hands, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw.

She leaned down and pressed her lips against his. What started as a soft, hesitant kiss quickly grew desperate. Her tongue slid into his mouth, finding his in a slow, heated struggle as she poured all her nervous energy into the contact. Alaric held her firmly, his hands supporting her weight as the kiss deepened, blocking out the sound of the wind against the tent.

When they finally pulled apart, a thin, silver line of saliva connected their mouths for a heartbeat before breaking. Roslin didn’t let go; she buried her face in his shoulder, hugging him tightly while he still held her up.

"I know you are strong," she whispered into his neck. "I know you have those big knights. But I am still concerned for your safety, Alaric. Is that a wrong thing to feel?"

Alaric felt the warmth of her breath against his skin. He didn’t laugh this time. He just squeezed her slightly before setting her back down on her feet.

"It’s not wrong," he said, keeping his hands on her shoulders. "But look at it this way. If I were in danger, I wouldn’t leave my two best killers—Rivy and Livy—here with you. I’m taking the knights because there is not much danger. I have everything under control, Rose. By the time the moon is high, your father will be signing exactly what I put in front of him."

He leaned in and kissed her forehead. "Trust the man you’re going to give all those babies to, remember?"

Roslin let out a watery, embarrassed laugh, the tension in her shoulders finally snapping. She wiped her eyes and gave a small, shaky nod. "Fine. Go. But if you aren’t back by dawn,I will drag you back myself....."

"That’s my girl," Alaric smiled.

After spending some time with her he turned, grabbed his heavy cloak, and stepped out into the night. Five red-armored shadows fell into step behind him.

Roslin rushed to the tent opening, pulling back the heavy canvas flap. The cold river air hit her face, but she barely felt it. She watched Alaric’s broad shoulders as he swung himself onto his horse. He didn’t look back—he was already in "commander" mode, his focus locked on the looming silhouette of the Twins across the field.

She leaned against the wooden support pole of the tent, her hand raised in a small, hesitant wave. Even though he couldn’t see her in the dark, she stood there until the clatter of hooves and the heavy, rhythmic thumping of the knights’ boots faded into the fog.

"be careful," she whispered to the empty air.

...

Somewhere in reach

Olenna Tyrell sat alone in a soft chair by the window. The room was quiet. A small fire burned in the fireplace, keeping the Highgarden night warm.

She held a small piece of paper in her hand. It was a new message from her spy in the Riverlands.

She read the words again.

Twenty thousand Northern men. Commanded by the ward, Alaric Thorne. Tall men in red and black armor. A Bolton captain cut in half in single strike. The Northern lords obeying orders.

Olenna put the paper down on the wooden table. She rubbed her wrinkled forehead.

Her son, Mace, was already moving their army to meet Renly Baratheon. Mace wanted his daughter, Margaery, to wear a queen’s crown. Renly wanted the massive Tyrell army. It was a simple trade.

But Renly was a fool. He liked wearing shiny green armor and hosting parties. He did not know how to lead men in real mud and blood.

Olenna picked up a cup of wine and took a small sip. She thought about her choices.

She could tell her son to stop the march. But that would make House Tyrell look weak. It would leave them without any allies if the Lannisters decided to attack Highgarden.

She could not ally with Alaric Thorne either. Not yet. He was just a ward with an angry army. He still had to deal with Walder Frey. and Tywin Lannister. He could easily die tomorrow.

Olenna looked at the fire.

A smart player did not bet all their gold on the first game.

She picked up the piece of paper. She leaned forward and dropped it right into the fire. She watched the edges turn black and burn away into ash.

...

Alaric rode his horse through the dark. The cold wind blew off the river, carrying the smell of dead fish and wet mud. Behind him, the five Blood Knights walked in perfect silence. Even with their thick plate armor, their footsteps were smooth and fast. The new system upgrade made them move easily, without the heavy, slow dragging of normal men.

They reached the eastern castle of the Twins. The massive wooden gates were closed. Above them, dozens of Frey soldiers stood on the stone walls, holding torches and crossbows. They looked down at the giant red figures in the dark.

A horn blew. The heavy chains rattled, and the wooden gates slowly pulled open.